


A Heartsick Farmer

by zemenipearls (kaiipaii)



Series: Zemeni Extended Universe [1]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Colm x Aditi, ColmxAditi, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Language Barrier, Meet-Cute, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Unrequited Love, novyi zem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiipaii/pseuds/zemenipearls
Summary: Colm travels to Novyi Zem to fulfill his dreams of farming, and falls utterly in love with Aditi Hilli.





	A Heartsick Farmer

Colm’s trunk was packed. He wasn't sure what agriculture was like in Novyi Zem but he wanted to at least try his luck. His orange hair was full and just a bit longer than good taste at the time. His parents were there to see him off, and he wore a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and trousers with suspenders. He placed his bowler hat on his head, embracing them. Saoirse and Finn. They weren’t sure why he picked Novyi Zem of all places to do a work study in agriculture, but Colm knew he was destined to be on the great wild continent.

They stood very still on the dock, while a photographer took their photo. Despite their serious faces, they broke into easy smiles when the exposure was through. “You behave yourself over there. Shield yourself from the sun every so often, I hear it beats down 300 days a year,” his mum said, fussing over him.

“Its been 300 days of gray here, maybe it's time for a change,” he laughed. His parents ran a pub in town, but Colm had a calling for something simpler. He had been working on a nearby Barley farm for years now. He helped to grow the crops that went right into the drinks his parents made. But he wanted land, a home of his own. And Novyi Zem was still building up. They had crops there he couldn’t even begin to understand, and fresh borders. 

His mother fussed and adjusted his lapels, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. She had a shock of orange curly hair, and bright blue eyes, while his father had strawberry blond hair neatly combed to the side. “If you need anything at all, you come right back home.” Colm nodded, shaking his father’s hand. Finn Fahey wasn’t a particularly warm man, but he was a kind one.

He boarded the steam ship and stood by the rails with the other young men who sought their fortunes abroad, until his parents disappeared into small specks, and eventually over the horizon. He stood on the decks, as the sun went away, until he couldn’t see the lush green hills of the Wandering Isles anymore. 

The days went by quickly for Colm. He slept on a stiff, uncomfortable cot that was nailed to the floor, and was pleased to see he didn’t get seasick at all. The food was boring, and he charmed the seven other young men sharing the room with him of tales from his parent’s pub. 

The Wandering Isles weren’t very far from the Northern side of Novyi Zem, and he made the most of the ship’s docks. With every city, he had the same routine. He walked around the city until he found a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, ate food, and then found a hole-in-the-wall bar and had one of their cheapest drinks. So Najima-bahr was his first experience on a foreign continent.

Colm knew he had a knack for people. Maybe he didn’t speak the Northern Zemeni language but he figured out that when he held his drink up, he said “Slainte!” and the people around him said “Se Fahetek!” The beer was full of spices he didn’t know, or at least recognize from the Wandering Isles. They invited him to smoke with them, and he only left to make sure he got back to the ship safely.

He wandered back to the ship, in high spirits. 

The ship docked two more times before his own in Ol’Umoyana, a new port city in South Eastern Novyi Zem. He saw glimpses of the Zemeni people. Each time they gave funny looks, but alcohol and food were universal, he found. And his parents’ pub taught him well. But nothing could have prepared him for stepping off of the ship for the last time with his trunks behind him. A new city, where he suddenly felt very alone and very different.

He found an inn that didn’t seem too busy, getting a room for a few days, resting before he would get to work. The people of Ol’Umoyana were very different than the people he had met in Najima-bahr. The drinks were different, the food was different, but it was all incredible. Even though it hurt sometimes, eating these foods that were different from the meat and potatoes of his home, he cleared his plate enthusiastically. 

On his free day, he found that he wasn’t well-equipped for the Zemeni sun. Even though it set earlier than the Kaelish summer sun, it seemed to bear down intensely, and his fair freckled skin was reddening underneath it. And he couldn’t seem to drink enough water to replace the sweat that poured off of his body. He must have looked a sight to the locals. 

Seeking shade, he found a market by the seaside that had awnings over the walkways, and decided it was best. He needed to save his money in case of emergencies, but he couldn’t help but buy refreshing drinks. Fruits he hadn’t even heard of before. And he felt better. He was ordering his third bush mango when he saw Her.

She was standing with her friends, an unbreakable wall of gorgeous women. But she was taller than them by a few inches, with long rope twists going down to her shoulder blades and a brightly colored kitenge skirt that hugged her generous hips. Her dark skin, darker than he had seen even among other Zemenis, seemed to drink in the sunshine his own skin rejected. She glanced his way, and he saw far set narrow eyes that were a hooded, beautiful brown. Like everything else about her, endless depths. There was a glint of gold on her nose and her ears, but just as quickly as he could see her whole face, she turned away.

Other girls in her group glanced at him, and he could imagine why. He was short for Novyi Zem, and tall for the Wandering Isles. His red hair was only slightly wavy and wasn’t done in any of the elaborate cuts and trims as the Zemeni men. And he was the only one around with his coloring. 

He frantically looked around for some way to make himself more presentable. His shirt was wrecked, his shoes covered in russet dust, and skin turning a peculiar shade of pink-red. He just felt hot. Very hot. 

Colm wasn’t sure how he passed out, and definitely not how he got into shade, but when he managed to open his eyes, he was staring right into her face.  
Up close, she nearly made his heart stop. He could see that there was no flaw on her skin, and how thick her hair was, impossibly dark and coarse but lovingly tended to. And she smelled like some sort of sweet oil that he couldn’t identify. Her hands were long with graceful fingers, and she placed them on his head. He was laying on a low cot underneath some sort of structure, beautifully colored cloth hanging above him.

A terrible itching sensation overcame him, as if little scratchy bugs were crawling underneath his skin. He moved to scratch, but she gave him a withering glance. But as soon as she took her hand away, the itching stop, and he felt immensely better. He didn’t feel flushed, and his heart was beating as rapidly. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Are you a Grisha?” he asked.

She quirked her head at him, and Colm figured she didn’t speak Kaelish. Which made sense when Novyi Zem was a massive country with several of its own languages, and the Wandering Isles was a small country with not even a quarter as many people. He didn’t have a gift for languages like his parents did, running their pub, and he cursed himself for it at this moment. He knew the basic Southeastern Zemeni words, but not many. His connection on the farm was fluent in Kaelish.

She spoke to him, kindly, but he couldn’t figure it out. “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I only speak Kaelish. But you’re very beautiful so I wish I didn’t.” 

There was an amused look on her face but she pointed at herself. “Aditi.” Then she pointed at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Colm,” he answered. “Nice to meet you Aditi.”

Aditi handed him a jar full of a orange-gold lotion and he took it. Then, she pointed outside towards the sun, and at him, motioning to his skin.

“To keep me from being burned?” he asked, even though she couldn’t answer. She gave a little shrug. Colm looked around, and saw that she was running a booth. It had all sorts of supplies. Judging from the labels on them, they were for hair, skin, and home remedies. So she worked here. He reached into his bag for money, but when he pulled it out, she scrunched her nose and refused to take any.

“I’m going to make it up to you,” he said, standing up. He felt a lot better, and she handed him some flavored water. 

She insisted he drink it, tipping it up. Coconut water. A group of people came up to the front of the stand, and she turned around to take care of them. She spoke rapidly, and had a low voice that was more lyrical than any Kaelish love song. He didn’t think it was possible for someone to be more attractive, until he saw the light catch her eyes. 

He sat back down on the cot and looked around, trying to pick up on any familiar words in the conversation. People bought her items and seemed to ask her questions. She kept meticulous track of sales in a notebook. He wanted to intrude, to try and find a way to communicate, but there was nothing he could do. So he stood up once more to say goodbye. “Thank you Aditi,” he said. “Ngiyabonga.” He butchered the pronunciation, only knowing what it was thanks to the small guide his host wrote for him.

Aditi laughed, and it melted his heart. Between her front teeth was a gap that made her all the more endearing. She was taller than him, and placed a gentle hand on his cheek again. Her skin was softer than he knew skin could be. “Goodbye Colm,” she said, in her wonderful accent (although, he noted that _he_ was the one with an accent in Novyi Zem).

Feeling much better, he found his way back to the inn. Aditi. She was all that he could think about, even though he was going to be headed to the farm. It wasn’t too far North, he could feasibly come and visit her again. He put some of the lotion on his skin and found that it cooled it immediately, and he wasn’t as exhausted when he went into the sun. He would need gallons of the stuff if he would survive Novyi Zem.

In the morning, his soon-to-be mentor arrived. He was a half-Kaelish and half-Zemeni farmer, with copper curls and freckles dotted across his light-brown face. “Colm!” he said, entering the bar at the inn. “How is Novyi Zem treating you?”

“Spectacular,” Colm said, relieved to speak his own language with someone. People looked at them curiously but didn’t seem bothered. “I don’t think I’ve eaten such delicious food all my life.”

“Its the spices,” Jammo replied. His given name was James Musambi, but Jammo was a common nickname according to him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my home country. Are you ready to travel North? It will be slow in our carriage, the strongest horses must stay on the farm. Colm nodded. He was definitely ready to get to work on the land and learn how to maintain profitable crops and change them each season.

At the farm, Colm felt he was arriving home. It was a cozy and small house, made of stone and reinforced with straw to keep it cool. Fields upon fields of crops stretched into the distance, and Colm was overwhelmed by the size of it. The bright orange flowers in particular were striking, a sunburst sea with the endless blue sky of Novyi Zem above, and the dark blue of the ocean to the east. The crags jutted out irregularly and the slam of the sea against the sides reminded him of the Wandering Isles. Homesickness tugged at his heart, but he boxed it away.

The shock of orange was jurda. Jammo taught him how it was used in Novyi Zem - a chewed stimulant, and also in everything. It was the miracle flower. Colm realized that it was one of the ingredients in the sun protector Aditi had given him.

Aditi.

He didn’t know how someone could stay in his head so long but she was. Kind and soft, and unbelievably striking. But the farm required a lot of work, and both Colm and Jammo were working on machinery that might expedite the process without damaging the crops. “We have a holiday coming up soon,” Jammo told him one sunny afternoon. Summertime was bearing down its full heat on them, and Colm was covered in sweat from the hard work. His body was adapting to the constant hard work, a thick muscled core and strong limbs meant for everyday lifting and tossing. 

“What for?” he asked. His Zemeni was coming along. Barely, but he could speak a few sentences. “Too hot to function?”

Jammo let out a belly laugh. “No. The Daughters of Novyi Zem competition. And it's in Ol’Umoyana this year. The entire city will be celebrating.”

“What is it?” Colm asked. He’d never heard of such a thing.

“All the best women of Novyi Zem come together to compete in feats of strength and prowess. There’s nothing like it. Marksmanship, horse riding, and others.”

“And its all women?” Colm, asked amazed. He couldn’t imagine the women of the Wandering Isles hitching up the skirts and shooting guns, unless they were slighted. 

“Yes. It started a couple centuries ago to show off marriage prospects between Chiefs and Tribal Kings, but now it's just a show. They train all their lives to be a part of it.” Jammo smiled. “We’ll be selling there as a vendor. Jurda is popular at large events - helps create the buzz and energy.” Colm could see the excitement in Jammo’s eyes. It was probably lucrative. “

“How many women compete?”

“Five from each region of Novyi Zem, so twenty.” The Southern Colonies, South East, West, and North.

Colm found himself excited for his first proper Zemeni event. In the Wandering Isles they had the Highland Games (which he competed in once, and did terribly) that was always a roaring good time. But that was the domain of men. 

By the time the opening events were about to begin, Colm had developed a press for the jurda flowers that would create a concentrated tincture. They made a few dozen bottles for the initial sales - no one was sure if it would work. But a couple drops under the tongue delivered the same stimulant effect without staining the teeth orange. Jammo was excited at the prospect. It made the most out of his crops. And Colm was pleased to be useful. He did have a knack for agriculture, and following his dream wasn’t a waste.

Jammo gave him his weekly pay, and a bonus for use of the press machine. His Kaelish clothes were impractical for events under the beating Zemeni sun, so Colm put on a simple sky-blue long-sleeve shirt in the Zemeni style, that went down to his mid-thigh, and pants. Colm didn’t feel quite right wearing the beautiful kitenge style clothes favored by the locals, but he had to admit the clothes were much better suited to the weather outdoors. He stood out enough as it was.

Massive bleachers had been erected of stone and wood on a giant expanse of land right outside the city, and there were large tents full of food, drink, and wares being sold. It reminded him of the market, but instead of only being locals, Colm saw goods from every corner of the continent.

Russet-brown Zemenis from the North with loose curls and flowing robes showed off exotic animals they didn’t normally see in the South, and beautiful horses unlike anything Colm had seen. Some of the women were standing among a crowd on boxes. 

“Are those contestants?” he asked. 

Jammo nodded. “That's a Bedu woman there. Fearless riders and usually win every horse competition.” he continued to point out the different ethnic groups, even within the different general regions. Colm listened as best as he could but knew half would be forgotten. 

He saw a Yoruba woman with a big smile, an elaborate gele on her head, rallying people around her. A Maasai woman with a deadly-looking spear and elaborate beadwork around her neck laughed at jokes. He sampled jollof rice and fried plantains, and other dishes he didn't know the names of, just pointing and nodding. 

They found their little designated area, and began to set up tables and display. It didn't take long for people to begin buying, Zemenis interested in a new form of jurda. It was pricey, but Colm found when they sniffed the bottle and saw it's purity, people were willing to pay. 

Jammo and Colm nearly sold out of the concentrated bottles that evening, when a familiar face stopped by. Picking up some traditional jurda-infused oils, she examined the label. Aditi was resplendent in a kitenge-print skirt and mid-length sleeveless top. Her hair wasn't in the ropey twists Colm remembered, but a glorious halo around her face. It reminded him of Ravkan drawings of Saints. But no gold, but an endless brown.

“Aditi,” he said breathlessly. 

She looked at him sideways, a hint of a smile playing on her face.

Jammo swooped in while Colm was stricken, talking up the lotion. He wanted desperately to say something to her, but all the Zemeni left his head. _Beautiful._ was the only word that seemed adequate but his brain to mouth translation failed, and he stared at her like a Kaelish deer. 

Aditi spoke to Jammo and he replied rapidly, and it made her laugh. Jealousy sparked hot in his chest. 

She handed over some coins to Jammo and kissed him on the cheek before leaving their booth. Colm cursed himself as he walked her leave, her figure cutting a stunning silhouette through the crowd. Colm stared at her until Jammo waved a hand in front of his face.

“You look sick, my friend.” 

“I just -” Colm looked for words. “She’s bonney.” Bonney didn’t even begin to describe it, but it was the best he could do in the moment. 

“Aditi Hilli, the Zemeni woman with a Suli first name and Fjerdan last name,” Jammo said. “You’re in luck Colm, since she’ll be a contestant representing our region. You’ll get to stare at her all you want.”

Somehow, that did manage to make Colm feel better. “So, are you acquainted with Aditi?” he asked, trying to learn what he could about the mysterious woman.

“Everyone is acquainted with Aditi. But yes, she buys jurda from me. How do you know Aditi?”

Colm thought about making up a story. “I fainted from heat and she helped me out.” Jammo let out a belly laugh that attracted stares from nearby people, and Colm’s cheeks flushed red. He cursed his fair complexion (not for the first time), and how visible his emotions were. But it was the truth. “I think about her all the time.”

“Many a man has fallen in love with her,” Jammo responded, still amused. “But you are my friend and I will help you. Maybe someday she will even talk to you.”

The prospect put a pep in Colm’s step, and he smiled until they sold the day’s wares and packed up to leave.

* * * 

The first event that Colm witnessed was horse riding. He was careful with his money, and didn’t want to bet. The odds were 4:1 on the Bedu woman, and according to Jammo, it was safe. But he saw Aditi sitting there on a gorgeous gray-and-white horse, and couldn’t help putting money on her. They were close to the action, since Jammo had weaseled them into some close seats. Five judges from different regions sat at a table in front of the crowd and watched carefully.

The obstacle course seemed impossible, but the Bedu woman, her hair tied and hidden underneath scarves, passed with grace. A Tuareg girl, who barely looked sixteen, also seemed to do well. Some contestants accidentally hit the obstacles and were disqualified, and others hit the ground hard or had a difficult time keeping their horses calm in the crowd.

Aditi was in what he could only imagine was a personal riding outfit. She wore a respectable skirt still, in the too-familiar kitenge pattern with pants underneath, reinforced on the inner thigh. She had what looked like leather boots and a sleeveless riding coat, almost in a Kaelish fashion. He was surprised, but thought she looked splendid. She cut an imposing figure on the horse, and waved at the fans in the audience.

Her horse was an extension of herself. He responded to every single flick, every casual glance. Over the fences and trotting, performing small tricks inbetween each one. She was showing off, and the crowd loved it. Colm definitely loved it. Despite her serious face, it was clear she had a flair for showmanship. When she finished, the applause was thunderous.

Colm earned his ten times his coins back when she won.

She placed high in every category, accepting her medals with class and a mischievous smile. But nothing made her shine like marksmanship. 

Early in the morning, when the sun didn’t have a chance to make the dew go away, Aditi stood with the seven other women competing in marksmanship. There was a contraption, that when they pulled it, sent targets flying into the air. Jammo explained that they each got three turns - if they managed to get all three, then the challenges got more and more difficult until there was only one left. 

Aditi, a Southern Colonies woman, and two from the West managed to get all three targets. Colm jumped a little in his seat every time a bullet went flying into the air, but he found it fascinating. Novyi Zem put a lot of stock in their firearms, he learned. Not as weapons of war, but as beautiful extensions of themselves, to show off and make into extraordinary pieces of art. 

Next, they had to ride horses and shoot at the same time. Aditi and a Western woman made it. They shook hands with each other in sportsmanship, and began the last trial. There was an announcer on a speaker, and Jammo translated for him. The contestants would be doing a display of their choosing to try and impress the judges.

The Western woman was spectacular. She had three released in quick succession as her horse galloped around the stadium, and she shot each of them. Three more targets were released, flying in the opposite direction and she shot each of them.

Colm politely clapped, but he was mostly waiting for Aditi. She spoke with the announcer, who argued back before reluctantly going to those who controlled the targets. 

Aditi went back to her horse, and snapped him into motion. The first targets were released and she hit it effortlessly. But then, she started to move on the horse. First she slipped a leg over so that she was side-saddle, and took out another flying target with her shotgun. She discarded the shotgun and pulled out a shining pistol, and fell halfway off the horse.

Colm’s heart leapt into his throat but she didn’t fall. Instead, she was clinging to the side of the horse, half-crouched, and reaching over the top of the still-moving horse to shoot at three targets released in quick succession. The crowd went wild as the clay shattered into pieces. With strength he couldn’t believe, she kicked her legs up and around so she was sitting back on the horse, but this time backwards. He continued to gallop and she didn’t hesitate, finally standing up on her saddle. There was an explosion of noise and cheers so loud that Colm barely heard the gunshots for the last three. 

Aditi waved before doing a graceful turn and facing forward again, slowing her horse down to a gentle trot. 

* * *

The competitions were over, but the festivities were not, and Colm was wallowing. 

“I have nothing to offer her.”

“True,” Jammo replied.

“She can ride horses, shoot, and looks like all the beauty of the world in one soul.” _And she’s a grisha,_ he thought to himself. But that wasn’t his place to talk about. _Aditi Hilli,_ he thought in his head. A fine name for a fine woman. He was positively heartsick. “Why would she take a chance on a poor Kaelish farmer?”

“You’re not that poor, with how much I’m paying you,” Jammo snorted. “And you’re a skilled farmer. Keep coming up with inventions and you’ll rival me.”

“How do you approach women here?” he asked. “Is there a proper way so I don’t cause offense?”

“Treating her like a human being helps.”

“Of course. But she’s… she’s a queen.”

“Novyi Zem doesn't have a monarchy, Colm.”

“You know what I mean,” he snapped. 

Jammo seemed delighted at Colm's distress. “How would you court a woman's attention in the Wandering Isles?”

“I would bring her flowers and poems.”

“Sounds like a good start. Now stop wallowing, it's our last chance to make big sales. When we close, you can drown in a pint.”

Colm barely focused on selling products, keeping a constant eye out for Aditi. Luckily for him, everything was flying off the shelves and they could close up early. He found, of all things, a small Kaelish-inspired beer garden that had ale from his hometown, and he was glad to spend money on the familiar taste. 

He thought about the spectacular feats of strength and skill the women had displayed. It would have been considered uncouth back home. To Colm, there was nothing unfeminine about it. It was alluring to see women as equals. 

Or maybe he was so enamored by Aditi, it didn't matter.

* * *

The summer stretched on, and Colm had the strength to approach Aditi again. He held a beautiful bouquet of flowers, painstakingly picked by hand. He made sure he didn't turn into a sweat demon and even had an extra shirt stuffed into his bag if he needed it. She was standing at her stall as usual, looking almost bored. A group of friends (or admirers) were around her, but she didn't seem particularly interested in talking to them. When he approached, she quirked an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat. “Sawubona Aditi,” he said. She smiled, but it was close-lipped and he desperately wanted to see the gap between her front teeth. 

“Sawubona Colm,” she said back. His heart jumped. She remembered his name, and hearing the way it danced on her tongue threw him right back into heartsickness. 

>>These are for you,<< he said in clumsy Zemeni, but not as bad as the springtime when he first arrived. 

She cocked her head to the side and looked at them, before accepting them. >>Why?<< She asked. 

How could he say it? That her breathtaking beauty haunted him whether he was asleep or working on the fields? That when she pointed that pearl-handled pistol at the sky it may well have been his heart? That he practiced Zemeni everyday in hopes he could find the perfect words for her? All things that would (rightfully) scare her away. 

>>I wanted a gift that came close to your beauty,<< he stumbled. >>But now I see that was useless.<<

Her eyes widened slightly and he cursed himself. It was too much, and the very first time they really spoke since he passed out. 

>>Thank you,<< she replied, and he saw the gods-gifted gap. He knew he would die a happy man. 

She turned away from him to speak to a customer and he knew it was done. But he made some sort of impression on her and she didn't owe him anything else. He decided to buy more fruit to take back to the farm, and happily went on his way.

* * *

Every two weeks, when Colm went into town to deposit his extra money in the bank, he would bring some small token of his affection to Aditi. Sometimes it was some more jurda concentrate but most of the time it was some beautiful thing. Usually flowers. Or a delicate pastry. She accepted it with a gracious smile and a short conversation. 

It went on that way for months. Jammo grew exasperated but Colm was insistent. “I could do this the rest of my life,” he said. Through the fall and winter, he would see her like clockwork. He became leaner and hardy, and his skin acclimated to the sun, so long as he wasn't outside all day. His freckles, under the constant light, exploded onto every inch of his face and body. His beard was full, tended to by Zemeni oils, and his hair was grown out into gentle waves.

On the first day of spring, he brought her a stunning bouquet of Zemeni wildflowers that he picked himself. It was bright and strong - just like her. 

His Zemeni wasn't so bad anymore. Colm became fluent enough to run booths at the market by himself and answer questions. 

>>Colm Fahey,<< Aditi said, when he approached. He handed her the flowers dutifully. She brought the bouquet up to her nose and sniffed. His stomach did somersaults until she smiled at him. Her hair was in decorative knots, sectioned off in big triangles. He wished to capture that moment forever - beautiful Aditi smiling while holding a giant bouquet.

>>Aditi Hilli,<< he replied, and gave her a chivalrous bow. He started to turn and run his errands, but she reached a hand out to him. His veins ran electric - she hadn't made any physical contact since that first day he saw her. He swallowed hard.

>>Tell me Colm, it has been a year. Why do you still bring me flowers, knowing they die?<<

He cleared his throat, his gray eyes staring into her endless brown ones. >>Because if I give you something permanent, I don't have an excuse to see you every time. I would gladly bring you flowers every day if you wanted it.<<

She seemed to consider this. >>And you want nothing in return?<<

>>I only hope to see you smile.<< And he meant it. This made her smile. Not the polite. one he became accustomed to but a smile that split her face, white teeth shining bright against her dark features. Her lush lips thinned out, revealing a charming amount of gum that most women tried to hide. Her eyes squinted and crinkled on the ends. She took his breath away.

>>Would you like to spend the evening with me?<< She asked. >>I finish in two hours.<<

 _I want to spend my life with you,_ he thought. >>Of course.<<


End file.
